


and it finally starts to make sense

by skai_heda



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Light Angst, dont worry about the timeline bruh, post 7X05, vague mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24932170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skai_heda/pseuds/skai_heda
Summary: Ripples, not waves.Deke deals with the consequences of killing Malick.
Relationships: Deke Shaw/Skye | Daisy Johnson
Comments: 21
Kudos: 49
Collections: fill the daisy/deke tag with actual content 2020





	and it finally starts to make sense

**Author's Note:**

> this tag is so dead and i've never written here before but im literally so sad checking this tag every day and seeing nothing
> 
> this totally ignores the 7x06 promo lmao
> 
> please forgive any grammatical errors

You know what? Maybe Deke isn't cut out for this.

Everyone around him is a finely trained killer. Hell, Nana and Bobo could probably murder people without blinking as well.

He did the right thing. He had to. Freddy Malick was supposed to be dead. Deke just secured the timeline, right?

Oh, screw that. The timeline's already Roach shit anyway.

He groans softly to himself, pressing his hands to his eyes. He can't. He can't just walk it off like—

_(like Daisy)_

Like the rest of the team.

He can't let it go, the dully painful jolt in his arms as he put a bullet in Malick's chest.

_Daisy._

His head just hurts thinking about what she'll say. Sure, she suggested killing Freddy back in the 1930s, but surely she would find some way to ridicule him, to make him look like a fool for what he's done. She hates him, violently, and it hurts. Because this team can kill and do bad things and have others forgive and forget, but Deke can't do any of that. 

As much as he wants to be, he's not an agent.

_Daisy._

He understands why she hates him. And he never had the courage to explain. Or to apologize, really apologize.

The same way he doesn't understand people now, no one else on the team can comprehend Deke's life. No, he's not trying to be one of those assholes who compare their sorrows to others, but—it hurts that no one really cared to know him.

Deke wonders if that's what he deserves.

He needs something else. He needs something to hurt, something other than what's in his head—

"Hey, Deke—"

"No offense, Daisy, but I'm _really_ not in the mood," he says immediately, his face still buried in his hands. They don't know this part of him, burning with resentment and regret and hatred for himself and every rotten decision he's ever made.

"Deke, _don't_ take that tone with m—"

"Can you just stop?" he says, looking up. Looking at Daisy is a bit like looking at the sun. Beautiful, blinding, and overall just pretty damn painful. "Will you _stop_ acting like a disappointed mother for once? I screwed up, okay? I'm not part of this team. I won't ever be. And you've already made that pretty _freakin'_ clear, so just—please, don't."

She scowls. "You think the way we treat you is undeserved, Deke?" she asks, walking forward. "You think we're all being shitty to a nice person?"

His head is pounding. "I deserve it, okay? I'm selfish! I considered my needs above the needs of people I literally didn't know and now I'm never going to hear the goddamn end of it!"

"Stop trying to justify your actions!" Daisy yells. "You sold me into slavery!"

"And I'm sorry." His voice is soft now. There's no use in yelling at her. "I regret it, okay? I really do. And I am— _really_ sorry. And I wish I hadn't because we might've had a chance at being friends. I grew up in a world where caring about yourself was the only way you survived, and I didn't get the memo that selfishness isn't a thing with you and your team. And I'm sorry, okay? You guys made me realize that it was possible to care about others. And look—it's fine if you don't forgive me, actually. I don't deserve forgiveness for what I did. But can you just stop acting like I have the IQ of a snail for an _hour?"_

He stands and pushes past Daisy, who looks incredulous.

The Zephyr is crowded, and now that Deke won't even get privacy in the bunk, he's not sure where to go. He feels sick to his stomach. And he feels a little bit like crying—Deke hasn't cried since he was eight or nine.

He wonders what life could have been like if Daisy hadn't found him in that jail cell. Probably better, he thinks. A life where he'd eventually adjust and get to look at blue skies, a life where he'd have friends and he wouldn't be the cause of all the problems in the world.

But he hadn't been lying about what he'd said earlier. This team was the only reason Deke started to think beyond himself. 

When this was over, if it ever ended, he'd leave. He'd take the good memories and go, never speak to them again. Stop caring about Nana and Bobo, stop thinking about their opinion of him, reducing Daisy to a faded photograph in the back of his brain. 

He leans against the wall of one of the deserted corners in the Zephyr.

Would his mother be proud of who he'd become?

Deke knows that he isn't. Deke's hated by the whole team, and he's a murderer. He's not proud of who he is. He hasn't been in a long, long time.

What if he doesn't care about the sky and the trees anymore? What if all he can really do is hate himself?

"Hey!" May says from the other end of the corridor. "What's up with you?" She's walking towards him, her hand reaching to grab his arm. Her fingers make contact, and her eyes narrow before softening, anguish apparent in her eyes.

She lets go hastily. "Are—are you alright?" Her tone is startlingly motherly, and his throat is closing up, his heart pounding in his ears. "Yeah, May," he says. "You should uh, rest."

May tilts her head. "You did what you had to. Every team member has gone through what you did when you killed him. You aren't alone."

But he is. "Thanks," he mumbles, before walking away. 

Maybe he does miss space. The tight corridors of the Lighthouse were easier to navigate than the mess his life has become.

* * *

"You're avoiding everyone," Elena says. Mack is beside her, and Deke is sure that she dragged him here against his will.

"Yay for you guys," Deke replies, turning his body over so he can lie on his stomach with his face pressed into the pillow. "I'm not going to be of any help, and the two of you know that. So—"

"Daisy told me what happened," Mack cuts in.

"It was—psshh, it's not a big deal. Don't we have bigger things to worry about than an accidental temper tantrum?"

"We know that's not what it was," Elena pushes, coming closer, too close, though she doesn't touch him. "May touched you."

"Guys, _please,_ it's literally not a big deal. I'm just a little stressed out about—"

"Have you ever considered hurting yourself?" Mack asks, walking forward, and Deke's heart jumps into his throat. That dull ache, simmering anger, a need that was less than a feeling but stronger than instinct, the desire to just _bleed—_

"No," he lies. "No, w-why would you say that?"

"May can feel what others feel whenever she touches them," Elena sighs. "What did you think was going to happen when she touched you?"

"Why does it matter?" Deke asks, sitting up. "Why do any of you care how I feel? It's clearly not what I deserve."

"Deke," Mack says quietly. 

He pauses. "I never did it. I couldn't. I either didn't have the time or the resources or I just talked myself out of it."

Elena sighs, rubbing her forehead. "How long?"

"Are you really going to make me talk about this?"

She tilts her head, trapping him in her vaguely intimidating gaze.

"Since I was nine," he admits. "When my mom was killed."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Mack asks, frowning.

"What kind of a question is that? Why _would_ I ever say that to anyone?" Deke counters. "I appreciate you guys coming here, I do, but can this be over? I'm not going to hurt myself. I never had and I never will. I'm too much of a coward to do that, okay? You two should probably get back to business."

"We need your help with something," Mack pushes, but Deke knows how to read people.

"No, you don't," he replies, turning away.

He wishes he was happier when he finally hears them leave.

* * *

Daisy hides before Mack and Yo-yo exit Deke's bunk, running a hand through her hair.

She wants to go to him, tell him that she knows. She understands the feeling. But she thinks of Ward, and she thinks of Lincoln, and she can't.

They're dead.

She can't care about someone, and she sure as hell can't have people caring about her. She can't have people dying for her.

Deke would. 

Then again, Daisy thinks back to their conversation, and she wonders whether Deke still cares enough to do anything. She wonders whether she really has succeeded in her mission to push him away.

She wonders whether she even really wanted to push him away. Because whether she likes it or not, she thinks about him. Daisy thinks about the curve of his jaw, the color of his eyes, the sound of his voice. She has made it look like she hates him, but she can't. Not anymore, anyway.

She gathers her courage and walks into his bunk.

Deke looks up, and Daisy hopes he doesn't start—

"I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier," he says. "With you being my 'superior' and all that. Or whatever."

"I'm not—well, I kinda am. But not really," she replies, sitting down next to him.

"I still—I still don't really want to talk right now—"

"I heard what you said to Mack and Yo-yo," Daisy admits. He looks up, frowning. "Do you really think it's that easy for us?"

"It's definitely gotten easier with time, hasn't it?" he replies. 

"It hasn't," she says softly. "But we have to learn to live with it. And we remind ourselves that there are still people that care about us."

Deke scoffs. "Yeah... don't think I can really follow through with the second one. No one here actually cares about me."

"That's not true," Daisy counters. "Simmons does. I'm sure Fitz does, too. And I do."

He looks at her, eyes soft and sad in a way Ward's, Lincoln's, or even Robbie's eyes hadn't been. "You don't have to lie to make me feel better, Daisy. It's not that big of a deal."

"It is," she insists. "For me. I hurt you, and I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

"Daisy, if _any_ of us are ever supposed to apologize, it should be me," he replies. His fingers are touching hers. "I was right. I deserved it."

"Yeah, you did," she murmurs. "But not now. You changed. You're better."

"I killed him. I killed Freddy."

"He was a bad guy, Deke."

"Yeah, I know, but I didn't—I didn't even think about it. It was a totally stupid, blind, impulsive decision. Those seem to be my specialty, and I just end up screwing up anyway."

"Everyone screws up," Daisy says. She puts her hand over his, and watches a muscle in his jaw twitch as he turns his face to look at her more directly. "I'm sorry, too, Deke."

And she knows he can't fight it anymore, because his free hand moves to her jaw as he kisses her. She would've maybe assumed that his kisses would be slightly clumsy and uncoordinated, but it is nothing short of amazing. His kisses are soft and unhurried, free of any ulterior motive, of lies, of jealousy, of fingers digging into her skin or small electric shocks. He is gentle yet firm, touch loving rather than holding her as if she is a piece of glass. 

"Daisy," he breathes against her lips, and she's never loved his voice more. "Daisy, don't."

She pulls away. "Why?"

He looks down. "I can't do this if it doesn't mean anything to you in the end."

Daisy frowns. "Why would you say that?"

He kisses her forehead and holds his lips there, a startlingly soft gesture. There's the Deke who loses his minds in the pleasure of the most mundane things, the Deke with his raw sorrow. And there's this, a man who holds her in a way that makes everything feel slow, in a good way. No desperation, no anger. Just him.

"You hate me," he says, his nose in her hair. His fingers are trembling slightly.

"I don't," she replies. "And it does mean something to me. It does."

She tilts her head up to catch his lips with her own, opening her mouth to him. She realizes that he's not as collected as she initially thought he was, because his fingers are shaking just a little more, and she can feel his small, nervous smiles against her mouth. And Daisy? Well, she's one to talk. She feels like a teenager, her heart beating rapidly, a giddy lightness in her chest. She buries her fingers in his hair, holding his face to hers.

They still have a lot to talk about. But here, now, they are the only ones in the universe they create in that small bunk on the Zephyr.


End file.
